It Is What It Is
by thatiranianphantom
Summary: They lived their lives in such a fast-forward, it's easy to miss the little moments, but they're there.
1. The Very Huge, Big, Enormous Step

A/N: Apparently I now write for every show. This is my first foray into Fringe fiction, I'm excited :P This will be all Polivia, although if I'm feeling inspired I may throw in some Alt!Lincoln/Alt!Liv. Leave me some reviews and let me know how I'm doing? Also, I haven't been watching the show for very long, so if I get anything wrong, feel free to tell me!

(###)

**We now join our twosome. You know them, we do. Let me introduce myself. It's only polite. My name is June. You don't know me, don't try to place me. You know September. I am the lesser known of our kind, yet it falls to me to summarize the tale of our woeful heroes. Not their entire tale, of course. Such individuals cannot be summed up into a short tale such as this. Nonetheless, I have selected an array of moments, both happy and melancholy.**

**Stay with me, now, as we journey into the past. **

_**Chapter 1: The Very Huge, Big, Enormous Step (AKA Moving In) **_

It was getting a bit ridiculous. I mean, to the point where Peter was finding bras on his shower rod that he was fairly certain he had never put there (what? When you lived with Walter Bishop, you sort of threw out everything you once thought was weird and crafted a new definition).

So now, after three months of being with Olivia Dunham, spending far more time together then they ever spend apart (Peter had started to wonder if he actually _could_ be apart from her for more than a few hours), Peter was now finding bras in his shower and women's deodorant in the bathroom and her clothes in his closet. Don't misconstrue this as complaining, though. The past few months had easily been the best of Peter's entire life. He and Olivia worked together, same as usual, but now he got to go home with her.

And at the risk of sounding like a woman, the sex wasn't even as important as waking up with her in his bed (not that the sex wasn't incredible).

So no, Peter wouldn't trade Olivia for anything, but constantly being unable to find things because he'd left them at Olivia's was not terribly pleasant. Nor was coming out of the shower smelling decidedly flowery because he had blindly grabbed her body wash.

(_You'll be the prettiest girl on the playground_ was her reaction, and Peter hit her lightly for choosing now to get a sense of humor).

That, as Peter saw it, could only be remedied one way.

(###)

"I want you to move in with me," Peter said. Which, theoretically, could have been said at a better time than at a crime scene. Over a maggot-infested body. But hey, no time like the present. He was a romantic guy.

"I'm sorry, what?" Olivia didn't even look up from her notebook.

"I want you to move in with me," Peter repeated, grabbing her arm and pulling her down to his level.

"You want me to…move in?" Olivia stuttered. "Peter, we've been together for three months."

"Less three years," Peter pointed out. "Then we were just kind of in a sexless relationship, which does seem like a waste when you look back on it."

She smiled. "So you're saying you want to move in because it's the logical next step or because of the faster commute to sex?"

Peter placed his hand over his heart dramatically. "Olivia Dunham, you wound me. The mere suggestions that this could be born out of _anything _but love…"

She gave a little laugh and even placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Enlighten me then, Mr. Bishop. What _is_ this borne out of?"

Peter gave a genuine smile. "Well, first and foremost, I feel that two hours is way too long not to see you, never mind a whole night. I want to wake up _every_ day with you. If we have a case, I want to be there to hear you groan the way you do when they wake you up at some ungodly hour and you think nobody can hear you. I want your smell to always be on my pillows and I want to have to get a bigger bed and dresser because it can't fit your things. I want you around _all_ the time, Olivia. Please?"

Peter could almost swear Olivia's eyes were a little teary but she looked down quickly and when her head came up again, she gave Peter a bright smile and slipped her hand into his, giving it a brief squeeze.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good," he shot back. "Because seriously, all my clothes are at your place. One pair of clothes can only last so long, woman, get on top of things."

That earned him a punch on the arm, but the smile didn't leave his face for the rest of the day.

(###)

That Saturday, Peter arrived at Olivia's place with Broyles' truck (asking for that had easily been the most embarrassing experience of his life).

Olivia met him at the front and together, they backed the truck in and propped the door open. The clothes (all in the same predictable shade of black) and the furniture were loaded easily, and soon there was only a few boxes left, sitting by the closet.

Confidently, Peter strode into the room and lifted a box.

It was probably less than half a second later that he found himself on the ground, the crash making Olivia rush in.

"Jesus Christ, what's in this?" Peter tore open the box to find shoes. Lots of shoes. In _colors_. Boots, flats, what he was fairly certain were called pumps and wedges, which always sounded like tire mechanic speak to him, and more.

He lifted himself to the other boxes and opened each of them. More shoes, more color, more styles.

He cast an incredulous look back to Olivia, who was standing in the doorway with a very bemused expression on her face.

"Oh my god, woman…how many shoes do you have?"

She snorted and strode past him, picking up a box with relative ease.

"Different outfits require different shoes, Peter."

"But…" he sputtered as he followed suit. "These shoes have colors!"

"You may never get sex again," Olivia threw out offhandedly.

There was a brief pause.

"Well, it only makes sense that such a beautiful woman would need so many pairs of shoes. I love the shoes. Could there be _more_ shoes, please?"

(###)

**Ah, yes, moving in. A first step in every relationship, but it is not like you all don't know where this is leading. September would be halted in stoicism, short and mincing words. Not I. There are people who were not destined to lead a quietly simple life. There are people only destined to save the many, never to have the world recognize their sacrifice. And all that they have lost along the way.**

_Life ain't always what you think it oughta be, ain't even gray but she buries her baby_


	2. The Last of the Cortexikids

**A/N: Diehard Walter fans, avert your eyes, as I am not. And I have not given up on this story! I have soooo many chapter ideas, but I also have many fics going up at once. It's gonna take patience, but I hope it'll be worth it!**

**We return with another tale. I have warned you that they will not all be good. This is not good. But the world falls into shades of gray, much as many of my kind would like to think it does not. There is not simply good and evil, but we must make an important distinction. Those who are content that other live in torture for what they believe is the greater good are not heroes. Those who inflict it for the same reason are worse. Those who take suffering on themselves to ensure our world is a better place? Those are the heroes. **

As with any other day, they were out of milk. That was how it began. Olivia had just settled her eight-month-old twins down on a blanket on the floor. They were happily crawling around on their bellies, Kaja giving Liisi the occasional whack on the face. Olivia had carefully crept to the fridge to make their evening bottles, but there was not enough there to fill half a bottle, let alone two.

She sighed. Her options now consisted of either taking her chances substituting juice, which forecasted an hour of the girls refusing their bottles as soon as they tasted the juice, no matter how many times they tried (which inevitably meant a long, very sleepless night for her and Peter). Or she could leave the girls with Walter.

Not much of a choice, in her opinion. She strode to the stairs, still keeping an eye on the twins.

"Walter!" she called. "Can you watch the girls while I go grab some more milk?"

Footsteps were soon pounding against the old wooden stairs. Olivia and Peter were almost done work on a new house, having sold this one (creaky wood furniture and building was really not appropriate for growing infants).

Walter swept into the living room, humming something indiscernible. Olivia grabbed her keys off the table.

"You're okay to watch them for half an hour or so? They should be pretty content to play there as long as they have plenty of toys."

Walter waved her off with one hand "Yes, yes, we'll be perfectly alright."

He dropped to the floor with the babies, as Olivia dropped a kiss on the nearest twin, Liisi.

"Mommy will be right back," she whispered, and left, locking the door behind her.

Predictably, Olivia ended up coming home with four shopping bags instead of simply the milk. She unlocked the door with the ease that only came from having to constantly balance twins, usually with one hand.

The house was quiet, but Olivia could still hear Kaja and Liisi cooing, so she made her way to the kitchen, intending to straighten it up after the groceries were put away.

She could hear Walter's voice coming from the study, and smiled. He always took such an interest in the babies, his first and only grandchildren. Olivia had moved in with him and Peter two years ago, mere months before she had gotten pregnant. She and Peter were still not married, but they were in no rush. They had a whirlwind relationship from the start, but were committed to each other, something made especially clear when the ultrasound technician uttered the fateful "I hear two heartbeats."

Liisi (Elisbeth, but Liisi stuck from the moment Ella had stumbled over _Elisbeth_) and Kaja were identical in almost every way, but Peter and Olivia had no trouble telling them apart. Kaja was far bolder than her younger twin, always the first to pick a fight, while Liisi was more timid, content to curl up in her mom's arms. Olivia had always said Kaja was a complete daddy's girl, and Liisi was hers, something that never failed to get a laugh out of Peter.

When everything but the milk was put away, Olivia could still hear Walter babbling to the twins. It seemed to be mostly nonsensical, but Olivia one sentence stuck out.

"Hold still, my dear. Grandpa Walter is just going stick you with this tiny little needle and then you'll be all better."

_That_ got Olivia's attention. She didn't think she'd ever ran faster, as she burst into the study to find Walter holding a needle at her child's leg, while her other daughter happily gummed on a piece of rock.

"Walter," Olivia breathed, sweeping both babies into her arms in one fell swoop.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The old man staggered up and to Olivia, his face lit with excitement.

"I've fixed the formula, my dear. It's _designed _for infants now. All it should take is a single injection. Just _imagine _the possibilities. The children born of the strongest Cortexiphan test subject there was and a child of two universes. The strength, both emotionally and physically, would be unmatched."

He reached for Kaja, but Olivia recoiled as if he had slapped her.

"Walter," she gasped. "Were you giving Cortexiphan to my babies?"

"Oh it's not _just _Cortexiphan dear, it's my own blend! Not to worry, these abilities won't develop in full until these little ones are toddlers, but to get started now, imagine the possibilities as adolescents, even as _adults_."

Olivia could barely breathe, the one image in her head playing over and over: little Olive, small and scared, knees pressed to her chest and tears streaming down her face. That was what Cortexipan had done to her, to Nick Lane, to Simon. That was the good the other world did for Cortexikids.

Walter took in the look on her face and reached out to her. "It's alright, Olivia…"

_It's alright Olive, you're alright. It's alright Olive, you're safe. _

"You son of a bitch," she hissed, barely trusting her own voice.

Walter looked very taken aback. "What is the matter?"

Olivia clutched her babies tighter.

"You have no morals for human tests, do you? You see no harm in experimenting on humans, real live humans with feelings. The ends always justify the means to you, only you're never the one who has to deal with the consequences."

Walter steps toward her and lays a hand on her arm. "Olivia, I meant no harm…"

But she wrenches her arm out of his grasp fiercely. "You _waited _ until I was gone to give drugs, dangerous drugs with lifelong repercussions to _my babies_? To your grandchildren?"

Olivia isn't sure how she's still breathing, or how she manages to make her legs work enough to dash to the kitchen and grab the phone. Or how she manages to gasp to Peter that he needs to come home. Or how she manages some degree of coherency with Broyles, asking him to find a home to take Walter to _now._

She does, however, recall very well how she robotically make two bottles and breathes in her babies' soft smell as they drift off to sleep.

If she did nothing in life, she'd protect her children. Nobody had protected her, and this would never happen again. She'd go down fighting if it meant her innocent babies would not end up in a dark corner of a room, their cries for help falling on deaf ears.

**A/N#2: Am I wrong in feeling like this really needs a second part? Feels really incomplete. Mistakes are mine, but they're the only thing I own about Fringe. **


	3. Fathers and Sons

**A/N: Okay, I couldn't resist. This is a Lincoln/Altlivia oneshot, though I could be persuaded to expand on it. I'm honestly not sure who I ship more, Lincoln/Altlivia or Peter/Olivia. **

**Another world, another twosome. Different, yet the same. These two are a family, a mother, father and child. But the workings of the human mind can be dark and hurtful, and under the surface, trouble lies. **

Captain Lincoln Lee was pretty sure this was the lowest point in his life, as he curled into Charlie's hard little couch, staring at the enormous volume on the various types of worms that sat on the coffee table (Mona's version of trying to help Charlie).

How the fuck had this happened? Two weeks ago, he was asleep, not on a tiny couch, but in a king-sized bed with his partner/girlfriend of two years sleeping next to him, their arms locked around their two-year-old son, his son.

His Henry. Lincoln didn't care about biology, (he wouldn't deny that he hated Peter Bishop being the child's father, the worry that he would claim Henry and take him away from Lincoln was ever present). Henry was _his_ son. When Lincoln looked into the boy's blue eyes, they were _his _eyes. When he passed his hand through the boy's auburn curls, or watched his little smirk, that was all Liv.

For the first time in his life, Lincoln Lee. For once, his best friend was not bourbon, crappy reality TV, and a lifetime of unrequited love for one of his best friends. He had Liv, probably the most amazing woman anyone could ever ask for, the best friend anyone could ask for in Charlie (not that he'd ever tell Charlie that), and a son that he loved so much that he didn't even mind that Henry considered 4am party time.

So who couldn't have predicted that it would all go to shit?

The best he could tell, it had started to unravel the moment that smarmy jackass started worming his way back into Liv's life.

"_Christ, Lincoln, he's just a consultant on a case. I didn't ask for him to be here, and he'll be gone soon enough."_

But soon, that asshole, shithead incompetent jackass (_he's just going by _Frank _now, _was Charlie's oh-so-helpful input) had become more and more necessary on the case, and Lincoln _swore_ he could see the way Frank looked at Liv, he wanted her back, Lincoln was sure of it.

And no matter how many times they fought about it, in the morning, Frank was always there.

_He abandoned you and Henry!_

_Oh my God, Linc, I'm not going to fall back into his arms the second I see him. Do you really trust me that little?_

And then the tipping point happened. Lincoln had walked in after a _very _long day, to find that shithead in _his _kitchen, holding _his _son.

He had no sooner ripped Henry out of Frank's arms that Liv had walked into the room, holding a bag of something. She had taken one look at Lincoln's face before quietly ushering Frank out. Lincoln was well aware of the verbal lashing that was coming, so he took Henry by the hand and sat him in his playpen with his toys, turning on the baby monitor.

"Buddy, play with your toys for a little bit okay? Daddy will get you for dinner."

Blissfully unaware, Henry had happily picked up his hippo toy and begun to throw it in the air. Lincoln had quietly shut the door and returned to the kitchen, just as Liv had come back, her face like thunder.

Okay, in retrospect, starting the conversation (if you could really call it that) with, _ "so did you fuck him goodbye?" _wasn't really a promising way to start a civil conversation.

And a civil conversation it was not.

Lincoln couldn't remember the last time they had fought that badly, but he _distinctly _remembers the lowest blow, the words that hurt the most.

_You let come here and hold our son! Shit Liv, can't you see it? He wants to get you and Henry back, that's the only reason he's here?_

_So the real reason you're angry is not because he wants to be with me again, but that he wants to be Henry's father now?_

_He's not Henry's father! He'll never be Henry's father._

_Neither will you._

She said it softly, but Lincoln heard it just as clearly as if she had shouted it at him.

Ten minutes later, he was packing his clothes into a small suitcase, only the necessary items, wanting so badly to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Except when he came back downstairs, Olivia, and Henry greeted him.

Olivia's eyes were welling, but she was stoically refusing to let the tears spill.

"Linc, come on. You know I didn't mean…"

"But you did, Liv, that's the problem."

He reached out a hand to meet Henry's, as the boy wiggled determinedly, trying as much as his little body would allow, to get to Lincoln. It was time for Daddy to fly him over his head to the dinner table, and he knew it.

_Olivia had scoffed the first time Lincoln did that particular trick. "I live with two toddlers." She had retorted, but Lincoln could see happiness shining in her eyes as she watched him and her son. _

Lincoln reached over and scooped the boy into his arms, passing a hand over his auburn curls.

"You don't think of me of Henry's father, do you, Liv? You never have. You just keep me around so Henry isn't deprived of a father figure."

"That's ridiculous, Lincoln."

"No, you still think of Peter. You know it's never going to happen with him, not with the other Olivia in the picture, and now that they have kids of their own, you just want the conventional family, no matter who it's with."

He hears her gasp, and it cuts into him, but he refuses to look up. He buries his nose in Henry's hair and whispers to him,

"Daddy's going to go stay with Uncle Charlie for a bit, okay buddy? But you're gonna come visit, and Daddy will come see you all the time. Okay?"

He can feel his eyes welling now, and he breathes an _I love you_ into the baby's hair and wordlessly hands him to Liv. She takes her son, the tears now making her eyes shine brightly, and the picture of the two of them almost makes Lincoln's resolve crack.

Almost.

Behind him, he can feel the confused little boy start to cry, can hear the _daddy, daddy come! _But he can't turn around, can't see Olivia turn her cheek into the baby's hair, the tear slipping down her cheeks.

Charlie took him in easily enough (would have helped if he hadn't been half-dressed with Mona behind him).

"Christ, Linc, what happened?" he asks, and Lincoln can only ask if he can stay with him for a little bit. He's sure he looks pathetic, but Charlie pretends not to notice.


	4. Fathers and Sons CONTD

**A/N: So, my roommate, the biggest slash fan you could possibly imagine, came up to me, waving this fic, and demanded very insistently "FIX THEM." And well, she threatened to stop helping me and some of my fics live and die with her. THUS, I must fix them. "Not easily fix them" is my caveat :P**

So this is how three in the morning on 5 hours sleep in 48 hours felt. Liv ran her hand through her long red hair in utter frustration, bouncing Henry in what she hoped was a soothing motion, to no avail. The boy simply wailed louder, and Liv heard another insistent pound on the wall from her neighbors.

"Henry, _please_, go to sleep, baby. Mama has to work tomorrow."

But his cries only grew louder.

It had been a week since Lincoln had walked out on them, a concept that still felt very surreal to Liv. The condo would have been quiet without him, but Henry had been taking it upon himself to let her know exactly how much he missed his Daddy. He had been fairly calm through dinner that first day, but bedtime was a routine where Lincoln was usually a key player (Olivia had tried playing The Clash's "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" to him, because Lincoln had always sung it to the little boy at night, but it only created a brief moment of silence).

She was losing her mind. She had a brief break from Henry at work, but the awkwardness between her and Lincoln was to the point that she'd rather listen to her two-year-old scream all day.

As she picked the boy up from daycare (and didn't miss Henry's face falling when he saw that she wasn't Daddy), one of the teachers mentioned that Lincoln had been by at lunchtime.

An inexplicable rush of anger ran through her. She hoisted Henry onto her hip, and marched back into the main Fringe headquarters. Lincoln was at Astrid's desk, conferring with her as she stared stoically at her computer.

"Daddayyyyy!" Henry called, stretching his hands toward Lincoln. His head snapped up and he jogged to them.

"Hey, buddy," he smiled, reaching for Henry, but Liv yanked him out of his grasp. Lincoln's face fell immediately, drawing into a mask of anger.

"Oh, now I can't even _hold _my son? Or are we even allowed to call him that anymore?"

"Hard to think you want to amicably share him, _sir, _when you sneak daycare visits with him to make _me _look like a neglectful parent."

"Oh, yes, Liv. That was _absolutely _my aim. One other possibility though, and this is just _purely_ hypothetical, just a remote possibility: maybe, just maybe, I missed my son?"

"Heyyyy," Charlie cut in between them briefly, sweeping Henry from Liv's arms. "Hey buddy. Come see Uncle Charlie. Hey Liv, you look great. Is that a new haircut, Linc? It's not important. Let's not discuss it now. We're gonna go."

And with that, he had retreated with Henry to safety in Lincoln's office.

Lincoln ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I have a right to use my lunch break to do whatever the hell I want, _Agent Dunham_, so stop trying to keep me from my son. Being a vindictive bitch doesn't suit you."

Her head snapped up at that.

"Oh you want bitchy, Agent Lee? Really, you want me to go there? You say I meant what I said that night? You have no parental rights to Henry. Legally, I could claim you as nothing more than a babysitter, and never let you see him again."

That certainly got his attention. Lincoln's face blazed with anger. He stepped right into Olivia's personal space, his height leaning over hers with their noses practically touching.

"_You cannot keep me from my son,_" he hissed, pure hatred lacing his voice, so much to the point that it honestly scared Liv.

And then, of course, the only other thing that could possibly make this worse, happened.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Frank's voice cut in, as he stepped in between the two, hand on Liv's shoulder.

"Come on guys, let's take this somewhere quiet."

"Oh you'd _love_ that, wouldn't you, Dr. Outbreak?"

And then Lincoln's fist was colliding with his face, and Olivia was gaping in shock.

"Oh my god, Lincoln, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lincoln got back into her space immediately.

"You want to jump back into bed with the guy who abandoned you the first chance he got? Fine. But he _does not_ get to take my son."

Olivia Dunham was a fighter by nature. She beat her way out of a basement lab at nine months pregnant and in labor, for fuck's sake.

But for some reason, in this moment, she couldn't. She could only flee the headquarters, grabbing her son on the way, and run home.

Which brings us back to tonight.

Liv had seriously considered throwing back a bottle of bourbon, but figured lowering her inhibitions might not be beneficial at this point in time.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Henry sobbed over and over, and it was all Liv could do to stumble into a chair and hold her baby close to her.

And cry for the father she'd just thrown out of her son's life.

She woke up, startled and out of sorts, with a painful crick in her neck. She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, or when Henry had finally managed to cry himself to an exhausted sleep, but Charlie was banging on her door, and she was two hours late for work.

It almost galled her to admit that Lincoln was too much of a professional to punish her at work. There were no crap assignments or ridiculous job requirements. He kept everything as professional as he could when his jaw was clenching so tightly he was lucky for the federally funded dental care. If anything, the only thing that changed at work was Charlie.

Her mother dropped by after dinner, and she avoided the entire subject of Lincoln as best she could. It didn't get her out of a twenty minute lecture, but she did her best.

She probably would have been okay, had Henry been able to sleep through the night. But it was another two a.m. of finding another stuffed toy, or a fresh bottle, desperately trying to find something to coax her son to sleep. And failing.

She couldn't keep it up like this.

The papers were waiting in her desk drawer, and had been for the last six months. She settled Henry into his car seat, and let him cry as she retrieved the folder. She tried brushing her fingers through her hair, but didn't really worry about it too much. If Lincoln wanted her to look fantastic after a week without sleeping properly, then she really couldn't help him.

**BREAK**

Liv really did want to ruminate on what Charlie and Mona had been doing when she opened the door in a spider nightie (really. Let's not make her revisit that.)

As Charlie appeared behind Mona, he sighed, passing a hand over his face.

"Hey Liv. You _are_ aware that it's 4AM and you're holding a crying baby, right?"

"Thanks, Charlie, the ringing in my ear kinda clued me into that."

She peered around Charlie, trying to see into the dark of the house. She bit her lip as Henry's tears dripped onto her neck.

"Is he here?"

A wide-awake Lincoln appeared from behind Charlie. As soon as he took in her disheveled appearance and her crying son, his eyes hardened, but he didn't walk away. With a sigh, Charlie let her in and pulled Mona by the hand back into their room.

"No sex in front of the kid, _boss_, or your ass is out on the street."

"Linc…"

He scooped Henry out of her arms without a word, and the baby instantly stopped crying, snuggling into Lincoln. He kissed the boy's curls, whispering "I love you" into his ear.

Henry was asleep in less than two minutes, still pressed into Lincoln. He rocked the boy gently, and laid him on the couch, combing his fingers through Henry's hair.

"You're a great father," she said softly.

"Yeah, isn't that funny," Lincoln retorted. "Kind of a revelation of sorts."

Her eyes closed, her head pounding harder.

"Please, Lincoln. I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Well then why did you come here, Liv? Just because Henry was crying? You couldn't figure out how to calm him down on your own?"

"No! I came here…to talk to you. Not fight, not run out mad, just…talk."

Lincoln folded his arms. "About what?"

Liv stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm, hoping fiercely that he wouldn't shake her off and shut himself down. Thankfully, he let her hand rest there, but his face retained its mask of anger.

"I am…so sorry, Lincoln. There is _nothing_ going on with Frank and I. Actually, I…I asked him to leave today. I should never have said what I did."

Her eyes searched Lincoln's face, but his expression didn't change.

"Please, Lincoln, I'm trying here. I want to fix this."

"Why? You said it yourself, I'm nothing in Henry's life, and I'm apparently nothing to you," he retorted.

"That's not true."

"Again, why? Why should I believe that?"

Liv reached into her bag and pulled out a folder, silently handing them to Lincoln. He flipped it open and read the headline "Certificate of Adoption."

"What's this?"

She passed a hand through her hair. "Adoption papers. I want you to be Henry's father officially."

Lincoln's mouth fell open. "You…want me to be his official father?"

She nodded, and then produced another flap of paper out of another envelope.

"I've had them for the past six months, just waiting for the right time. And then there's this, but this depends on tonight."

Prior to this, Lincoln didn't think she could shock him even more. However, the headline made him fall back onto the couch, careful not to crush Henry.

"Application for Marriage License."

He looked up at her to find her biting her lip in nervousness.

"Liv, you want to _marry _me?"

"Yeah, kinda."

He stood, his legs still shaking a bit.

"So we've gone from hating each other's guts, to threatening to deny me visitation, to me moving out, to you wanting me to adopt Henry and marry you."

Her face fell ten stories. "Is that a no?"

"No! No, its not a no, it's just…"

"Look, I know we have a lot to fix, Lincoln. But…I want to fix it. I want you to come home. And yes, I want you to officially be Henry's father and eventually, I want to marry you, but please, please come home. I was being an idiot but we both need you. Please?"

For the first time in what felt like days, Lincoln felt a smile break over his face. He scooped up his son in his arms and carefully weaved his fingers through Liv's.

"Let's go home."


	5. Flowers, Weddings and Apocalypses

**A/N: Happy Polivia wedding fluff. I'm actually so shocked I could write it. I NEVER write fluff, I pretty much exclusively write and read angst. Just needed something happy after that last episode though….so enjoy, I'm thinking the AltTeam might make another appearance soon. What would you guys prefer, this side or the other side? Or both :P **

Olivia Dunham wasn't nervous. Seriously, ask her. She'd tell you that was ridiculous. There was only one way this day could turn out, and customarily it was supposed to be a happy day.

Ella and Rachel hurried towards her, Ella bubbling with energy and Rachel trying in vain to hold her back, to no avail. Ella threw her arms around her aunt in glee, and Rachel gave an amused sigh.

"Aunt Liv, don't I look beautiful?" Ella cried, spinning around and making her light green dress twirl with her.

Olivia gave a small laugh and tucked a curl behind her niece's ear.

"You do look beautiful, baby girl."

Ella stepped back and regarded her aunt for the first time, her mouth falling open.

"Aunt Liv, you look _pretty_!"

She smiled and ran a palm down the white fabric, smoothing it.

"Thanks sweetie. Nothing compared to you, of course."

Ella nodded sagely. "But don't worry, Aunt Liv. I'm sure you looked even prettier when you were young too."

Suppressing a snort with her hand, Rachel waved her daughter towards the door.

"Okay, El, that's enough. Why don't you go continue to spread the joy outside."

" 'kay, Mom!" Ella called on her way out, completely unfazed.

As soon as she was gone, the laughter bubbled out. Olivia smacked her sister playfully, but Rachel only giggled harder.

"She's right, Liv. You are officially over the hill. Really, it's all downhill from here."

"See, and I thought my wedding day was the one day you had to be nice to me."

"Nope," Rachel shook her head. "I am under obligation to bother you every single day, as much as possible. It's in the manual."

"See, I knew not reading the fine print would come back to bite me in the ass."

Rachel slung her arm around her sister's shoulders.

"You look beautiful, Liv. It's perfect."

Olivia bit her lip and cast her eyes down. "You think Peter will like it?"

"You're kidding, right? He won't know what hit him!"

Olivia twisted the fabric of her simple ankle-length white dress in her hands. She and Peter had decided on a simple, small wedding. They had chosen a field by the lab with overhanging trees (and Peter had managed to halt Walter's tirade of "do you _know_ how many potential hazards getting married outdoors would create? The ticks _alone_…")

Astrid teared up pretty much anytime they talked about the wedding, but she had helped Olivia pick a long, sleeveless dress (she had decided on bare feet and soft curls in her hair). Peter was wearing white slacks and a white jacket.

They had decided on only close family and friends for the ceremony. They'd actually prefer to do it alone, but knew how important this was to people like Walter and Rachel. They'd only invited a few people, all of whom said they wouldn't miss it even if the world ended (they all got a good chuckle out of that).

But now, as Olivia stood in one of the little tents with her sister – well, yeah, she was starting to feel a tinge of nervousness. This was not like when they first got together. Or when they moved in together. Or when they got engaged. This was _forever_. And she was an workaholic FBI agent marrying a former conman from another universe.

What the hell was she thinking?

"What am I doing, Rach? How could I have ever thought _me and Peter _were marriage material? What if this whole thing is just a big mistake?"

"And there are the cold feet." Rachel stepped closer to Olivia. "Liv…"

"What if he decides, a few years down the road, he doesn't want me anymore?"

"Ok, Olivia Dunham, my sister, whom I love, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say. Peter is _never _going to get sick of you. You two have this – what did Charlie call it? – weird mind meld –"

"Vulcan mind meld," Olivia supplied.

"Yeah. Strange as it may sound, what you're feeling is something every bride feels. You're acting _normal. _ I know I was the picture of calm grace at my wedding –"

"Before or after the thirteen minute freakout on whether the organist wore running shoes or loafers?"

" –_but _not everyone can be like me."

Olivia finally giggled, and it was Rachel's turn to hit her sister.

"Come on, let's get out there"

The ceremony was a blur for Olivia, only really focused on Peter's thumbs stroking the backs of her hands and his eyes boring into hers. When he squeezed a little tighter, Olivia said the words easily. No hesitation.

"I do."

When it was over, they looked out at their spectators. Rachel and Ella (one of whom looked a little bored, the other was watching with rapt attention). Broyles, Walter, Astrid (who _was_ crying, along with Nina Sharp, much to Olivia's surprise). And Charlie, Liv and Lincoln, as well as their son, Anthony.

Peter had been shocked when Olivia had announced she wanted them there, but she had maintained that if they wanted to work harmoniously, they needed a gesture to show that they were serious. Peter didn't want to suggest it was because she wanted, _needed_ Charlie at her wedding and she had actually become a warped version of friends with her alternate and alternate's fiancé.

Didn't matter much now, though. Olivia was now a Bishop. Peter was her husband. She was his wife.

She wondered if one lifetime would be enough for them

**(BREAK)**

Olivia honestly couldn't tell how long they'd been out here, swaying gently to no discernable music, nor did she care. Everyone else had left long ago, Rachel, Lincoln and Liv wanting to get the kids home for bed and the rest finally giving in around 2am.

Still, Olivia and Peter stayed, her head lying on his chest and them swaying in moonlight. Peter pulled back a bit, keeping Olivia in his arms, and smiled.

"Who would have thought we'd ever get married?"

Olivia smiled. "It's not bad so far. Weird sense of déjà vu, though."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. We're standing alone at night in a field of flowers. It just feels familiar somehow."

Peter reached down and snapped off a white tulip, weaving it into her hair.

"Get used to this now, Liv. Just you and me now."

She smiled softly, running her fingers along his brow.

"I don't think anything could ruin tonight."

"Oh, never say that, Liv. There could be up to four apocalypses tomorrow, and that would just be before lunch. We're the Bishops, you just never know.


End file.
